


5 times Tony's reminded how strong Peter Parker actually is...

by A_Canceled_Stamp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, eventual angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Canceled_Stamp/pseuds/A_Canceled_Stamp
Summary: ...and one time he's reminded that Peter Parker isn't invincible.Or...Tony and Peter shenanigans after Homecoming and before Infinity War/Endgame
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 132





	5 times Tony's reminded how strong Peter Parker actually is...

**Author's Note:**

> I am in desperate need of fics set between homecoming and infinity war, so I decided to write one myself. Screw finishing works I’ve already started on. I have the attention span of a dog on steroids.

The workshop is supposed to be a sort of safe haven, for both Tony and Peter. Inside the workshop there’s no press, there’s no worrying about school. There is just work. Distractions. But most importantly, no criminals trying to put a bullet in between Peter’s eyes. No threats, no injuries. Just…work.

So when, on a normal Wednesday evening, Tony turns around, halfway through a sentence about upgrades on Peter’s suit, waving the screwdriver in the air in front of him, he’s allowed to feel slightly jarred when he’s met by Peter lying face down on the desk, his arms creating a makeshift pillow under his head.

Tony’s words trail off into silence and he takes an instinctual step toward the unmoving teenager. Despite the dim light, Tony can see the steady rise and fall of Peter’s back, and he relaxes marginally. Glancing around, he picks up a sheet of paper, crumples it into a small ball, and tosses it at the kid, snickering quietly when it bounces off Peter’s head onto the desk.

There’s no movement. Tony’s brow furrows as a feeling of unease start to build up in his chest.

“Peter?”

But when he gets no response, not even so much as a flinch, something cold spreads in the pit of his stomach. He crosses the room in a few, quick strides until he’s standing beside Peter, the icy feeling now blooming into full-blown concern.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., vitals.”

Before this, Tony hadn’t noticed anything that indicated that something was wrong. Peter had seemed his normal self, apart from claiming to be unnaturally tired. Now, that symptom was all Tony can think about. He should’ve done a scan the moment Peter voice his unease. Why hadn’t he done it sooner? Maybe it’s a concussion, or he’s bleeding internally, and Tony’s a fucking idiot. God, how long has he even been unconscious?

Just as Tony gently places a hand on Peter’s back, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rings out. Her voice seems softer than usual as if sensing Tony’s growing worry.

_“Blood pressure unnaturally low, but corresponds with Mr. Parker’s apparent enhancements.”_

Tony listens intently, eyes raking over Peter’s form while preparing himself for the bad news; broken bones, punctured lungs, internal bleeding—

_“If my scans are correct, I believe Mr. Parker’s asleep.”_

And yup, that is definitely amusement coating F.R.I.D.A.Y.’S voice.

Relief, so sharp and overwhelming it’s almost embarrassing, flows through Tony, and he heaves a shaky sigh, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his closed eyes.

“ _Jesus._ ”

Of course he’s sleeping. It’s stupid o’clock and they’ve been working for hours. If Peter had even had the _chance_ to be injured he would’ve already healed up by now.

Tony looks down on Peter, only now realizing how hard his heart is beating in his chest. The knowledge that all logic seems to escape Tony whenever Peter’s well-being is in question is unnerving. Christ. Tony already has the feeling that the kid is going to introduce him to some new gray hairs.

Heaving another sigh, Tony lets his hand drop to the table, leaning on it as he gives Peter’s shoulder a gentle shake.

“Wakey, wakey, short-stack.”

With a sharp inhale, Peter lifts his head from the writing desk, blinking himself out of his slumber. His left cheek and forehead are riddled with red imprints from the sleeves of his hoodie. He looks only half awake as he squints and looks up at Tony.

“Wha’?” He croaks.

Tony forces the small smile tugging at his lips away and scolds his face to look unimpressed instead.

“Bedtime”, he says, and immediately pauses. The word sounds weird coming out of his mouth, (probably because it’s the first time he’s actually _said_ it) like it’s something anyone _but_ him should be saying. At the same time, it’s so easy it feels almost natural to move his hand to Peter’s shoulder and give it a small squeeze. “I promised May to have you in bed before eleven. School night, remember?”

Peter untangles his arms from underneath him so that he can lean forward on his elbows and rub his eyes. He yawns loudly. “Oh, man. What time is it?”

“Summertime”, Tony drawls, expecting Peter to at least snicker at the joke, but all he gets is another deep yawn. “Wow, not even a distasteful grimace? You must be really out of it.”

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about”, Peter mumbles from behind his hands. Tony sniffs disapprovingly, and takes a small step back, expecting Peter to push himself to his feet at any moment. After a few seconds of waiting, he notices how Peter is slowly but surely sagging toward the desk again and realizes that the kid is once again falling asleep, this time with his face smushed into his hands.

Tony huffs out a laugh and gives Peter’s shoulder another squeeze, smiling fondly when Peter’s head immediately snaps up.

“Kid, as much as I wish it were possible, teleportation has not been invented yet. If I were ten years younger I might’ve been able to drag you to bed, but my back is not mentally prepared for that and I’m sure you wouldn’t want pictures of you being carried bridal style to go viral on Twitter.” Tony ducks his head, making sure the kid isn’t falling asleep again. “You’re gonna have to use your own legs, buddy.”

Peter groans again and pushes himself up from the desk to a sitting position. Tony realizes he’s been rubbing his thumb along Peter’s shoulder and quickly removes his hand, awkwardly taking a step back. Peter doesn’t seem to notice, eyes half-lidded and blinking a bit too slowly to be considered to be 100 % conscious as he pushes himself up from the desk.

They walk toward the elevator, Tony keeping himself within arm’s reach since Peter looks like a gentle gust of wind would cause him to topple over. When they’re just about to exit the workshop, Peter suddenly turns around, his bleary eyes scanning the room in a mild panic.

Tony looks over his shoulder but sees nothing out of the ordinary. Turning back to Peter, he frowns, eyes searching Peter's face. “What?”

Peter mumbles something that’s barely comprehendible and stumbles back toward the workbench.

Tony takes a step forward. “Kid, what is it? Is it the spider-thing?”

Because there is no way he is ever calling it the _Peter-tingle_.

Peter grunts something, leans down beside the bench to lift up his backpack, and heave it onto his shoulder.

“Of course”, Tony drawls, silently relieved that they’re avoiding any monster-fighting action for today. “One mustn’t forget the backpack. What riches would be lost if the backpack was left behind for the night?”

“Shut up”, Peter grumbles. Tony’s eyebrows raise to the sky, but Peter seems too out of it to register his own words.

Tony can’t hide the smile that breaks out on his face, and he lets a small laugh escape him as he places a guiding hand on the kid's shoulder as Peter stumbles back toward him. “I guess I deserved that. Teasing a tired teenager is dangerous.”

They walk toward the elevator that's hiding just out of sight around the corner. Tony barely manages to stop Peter from making his face acquainted with the floor when he tries to hoist his backpack higher upon his shoulder, causing him to stumble to the side. Tony forces Peter into a halt, but when he glances at Peter’s backpack, he pauses.

Whatever Peter’s hoarding around in his bag is decidedly not light. The straps are taught, close to coming apart at the seams, and something slightly pointed is visibly pushing against the fabric on the bottom of the bag. It looks like a too sharp jerk would either tear the straps from the bag or cause whatever is in Peter’s bag to fall through the bottom.

Tony scoffs. "Jesus, what kind of books are they forcing you to hoard around?" Before Peter can open his mouth to answer Tony shushes him and holds out his hand. “That was purely rhetorical. Either hand over your bag and let the grown-up do the heavy lifting or you're going to end up sleeping on the floor.”

Peter says something incoherent but shrugs off the bag from his shoulder. He holds it out for Tony to take, his grip around the strap so tight it causes his knuckles to whiten. Tony doesn't have time to regret his decision as Peter casually hands the bag over to Tony, and lets go.

Now, Tony had expected the bag to be as heavy as all hell. He'd expected to have to struggle to lift it unto his shoulder, to go through a slight existential crisis over hearing all the joints in his arm pop. What he _hadn't_ expect was for the sudden and impossible weight to cause his arm to be nearly torn from its socket and the entire upper part of his body to fold on itself as the bag crashed to the ground.

There’s a loud _crack_ that echoes through the room as the stone floor under the bag caves in and _breaks_.

The silence is palpable. Tony stares down at the spiderweb-like cracks that sprawl away in all directions from underneath the bag, his brain trying to connect all the dots, to form some sort of conclusion as to _how_ a backpack of that size could possibly create damages such as what he’s staring at now.

“What the actual fuck.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement, but Tony’s eyes still dart to Peter, waiting for an explanation.

The kid looks as surprised as Tony feels, his brow furrowed and his tired eyes blinking down at the backpack as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then something shifts in Peter’s eyes. Something akin to understanding seems to wash over him and he sucks in a quick breath and pinches his eyes shut.

“ _Susan_.”

The comment causes a startled and wheezy laugh to escape from Tony’s lips. Peter startles at the noise, head snapping toward Tony as if he’d forgotten he was there.

At the sight of Peter’s wide, panic-stricken eyes another fit of laughter bubbles up from Tony's chest.

“What the hell do you have in your bag, kid? The moon?” Tony asks when he’s managed to catch his breath, stomach spasming with the snickers that follow.

Peter looks like he’s either about to pass out, cry, or, worryingly, maybe even both.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I didn’t…I don’t—”

He looks back down at the backpack as if to check if it is still there, and hunches in on himself even further. His cheeks are tinted red as he glances up at Tony again, fingers fidgeting with the zipper on his hoodie.

“I’m so sorry, I-I’ll pay for the damages, I promise, I just forgot what I was carrying, I swear I didn’t—”

“Hey, no, Peter, stop talking”, Tony says, cutting Peter’s ramblings in half. He immediately regrets it however when Peter's eyes widen before he tucks his chin down to his chest, looking like he’s waiting to be scolded.

“Hey, I’m not mad”, Tony assures him, holding up his hands in a way he hopes counts as calming, because it’s late and Tony can almost _sense_ the tears forming behind Peter’s wide eyes. And oh man, he’s nowhere _near_ ready to deal with anything that involves tears. “I’ll call someone tomorrow and have them fix it in no time. You're fine. 

“However”, he adds, and when he notices how Peter’s shoulders tense up again he quickly continues, “You _will_ pay for damages to my psyche by telling me exactly what you have in that bag of yours. I know it’s been a while since my high school years, but I refuse to believe that your schoolbooks weigh a ton each.”

Pete, whose features are swimming with guilt, gives him an uncertain smile. “You’d be surprised?”

Tony levels him with his _don’t-bullshit-me-Parker-_ look, and its effect is almost immediate. Peter’s smile slips from his face, and he sighs tiredly.

“Okay, okay, jeez”, he mumbles. Crouching down, he unzips the bag and pulls the flaps down on either side of the object that’s been resting inside Peter’s worn bag. He digs in his hands underneath the object and, with unnervingly little effort, stands up with it cradled in his arms, brings it into the light of the workshop.

Tony can only stare for a moment, trying to understand exactly what it is he’s looking at. At first, he thinks it’s a piece of rock. A big piece of rock at that; it's almost three times the size of Peter's head. Then he notices the carvings, and something that looks like an eye, and—

“Wait…is that a—”

“Gargoyle head, yup”, Peter says, glancing down at the decapitated demon statue with something akin to pride in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m having a little trouble processing here. Exactly _why_ do you have a gargoyle head in your school bag?”

Peter’s excitement is immediately snuffed out of existence as his smile drains away from his face, his gaze going far away as he's seemingly lost in memories. He hesitates for a second before heaving a sigh.

“I accidentally swung into her a few days ago while on patrol, and—”

“I’m sorry, _her_?”

“Well, she _struck_ me as a Susan—”

“Kid, if I hear one more half-assed pun come out of your mouth, I swear to God I’ll—"

“—and I was gonna try and put her back yesterday but I didn’t have the time, so she stayed in my bag throughout the night and then I had to hurry to school and forgot to unpack her, so…”

“You were gonna put her back? How? By supergluing her into place?”

Peter’s lack of response and refusal to remain eye contact is an answer in and of itself, and Tony almost gawks at him.

“Jesus, where have I failed you. One of these days you're going to have to learn how to actually use the brain cells you've been blessed with.”

“No, it was a reasonably sound plan; there’s actually a type of glue that’s strong enough to lift a car. That’s like, four tons. It made it into the Guinness World Record.”

“Good for the glue. I’m not sure your type of superglue would be strong enough to keep dear old Susan stationary.”

“Don’t weight shame Susan. She’s not _that_ heavy”, Peter protests, and in an effort to prove it, proceeds to throw Susan the Gargoyle Head between his hands as if it was a beach ball.

Tony raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the crater on the floor. Peter falters and once again hangs his head in shame, hugging the head close to his body.

“I’m sorry about the floor”, he murmurs, and shit, Tony can’t even _pretend_ to be mad at the kid when he sounds so guilty.

Instead, he opts for rolling his eyes, before ruffling Peter’s already disheveled hair. “Apology accepted for the millionth time. Now, and I'm probably never going to say this again; bedtime. If your Aunt finds out you don’t get enough sleep she is going to do to me what you did to poor Susan here.”

“It was an _accident_ —”

“That’s what they all say.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

They step into the elevator and fall into a comfortable moment of silence as the doors close, and they start moving up.

“This is just ridiculous,” Tony says once they've reached the eleventh floor, gesturing at the decapitated head in Peter's grip.

“What is?” Peter asks, somehow managing to still look both guilty, tired, and smug at the same time.

“I forget how strong you are when you’re not dressed all red and blue. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You can start by not cracking High School Musical jokes.”

“Duly noted.”


End file.
